Glimpses
by Sandra S
Summary: A collection of short - sometimes very short - episode-tags for Season 1
1. Pilot

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Pilot

* * *

To ask Burke for a meeting is on the spur of the moment. Neal does not have a plan, has not even an idea of a plan but seeing the security fiber of the new Canadian 100-dollar bill offers him an opportunity. And if he is good at anything it is taking opportunities.

Although this time it turns out somewhat harder than other times – his escape has lost him a lot of privileges of earlier good behavior; his cell is stripped of most personal belongings, no internet time, no access to the library. Still, his easy-going nature has collected him enough points with the guards that they do not put him in solitary and he is liked enough among the other prisoners that he can wheedle several into doing research for him. Most of all it helps that he broke out (and got caught again) not for personal gain but for love … honestly, who would have guessed so many bad-ass criminals were suckers for sappy love stories.

It takes four days to come up with the consulting gig, including precedents and all, thanks to some guys who got a law degree in the time they spent behind bars. It is also enough to learn who Burke is after. Two more days and the anklet thing is worked out with manuals and pictures just to dot the i's and cross the t's. That leaves Neal an entire day fine-tuning how to sell it to Burke.

Actually he considers that the easy part. He knows Peter Burke is driven. Obsessive even when he is on a chase since that's the way he caught NEAL, after all. He just knows what he has to offer will appeal to the man, all angles – or in this case ankles – covered, the benefits tantalizingly obvious… In fact, by the time the week is up and a guard actually informs him of a visitor Neal has played through the coming conversation so many times in his head, has worked out any argument and counter-argument so thoroughly there is not the slightest doubt in his mind that he will be out of here within a month. He will be out, he will contact Mozzie, he will search and find Kate and all will be explained and forgiven and forgotten and this time they WILL make living happily ever after happen … he so not expects the talk to go the way it does.

He so not expects Burke to walk out with a light-hearted "Nice try" and a pat on his shoulder.

Even after he is back in his cell he can't really believe it. Surely this is just Burke jerking his chain, making him sweat while rubbing his hands at the opportunity of catching the Dutchman with Neal's help. Days go by, weeks become first a month then two and still Neal tells himself that paperwork takes time, that any day now he will get a phone call or a guard will inform him that Burke has come to see him.

It isn't until he marks the day that should have been the last of his original four-year sentence on the wall of his cell that it finally hits home.

There would be no phone calls. No announcement of a visit. No position as consultant, no anklet, no getting out of here and no search for Kate. Only four more years of marking down day after day. The con of his life, the one all depended on and he botched it.

Rage takes him by surprise. White-hot rage, at this wall, at this cell, at this prison, at Burke and most of all at himself, his own stupidity and helplessness and he slashes with the marker across the evidence of wasted time and pain. He slashes and slashes, the light bulb caught up and shattered in his furious swings, rams his hand against the wall in frustration, ignoring the angry yelling from the other side.

But the rage leaves as quickly as it has come.

Taking deep breaths to steady himself Neal runs his hands over his head before turning around and facing the opposite wall. Clean and smooth, a slate as blank and bleak as his future. Bracing against it he lifts the marker with deliberate control and draws a short little line on it. Then just stands there for a moment, looking at it, finally dropping his head.

One line. One day. The first of four years.

Four long years until he can go find Kate.


	2. Threads

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

Dialog in italics are quotes from the episode "Threads"

* * *

Threads

* * *

_"I need you to be Agent Peter Burke tomorrow." _

Peter's fingers stall for a moment on the latch of his new old watch at Elizabeth's words and his gaze drifts away, fixing on something only he can see.

Because Agent Peter Burke is a careful man. A man who plans ahead, who likes to consider a problem from all sides and prepare for all possibilities before taking action. And while he's no stranger to improvisation when the need arises – no agent in law enforcement can afford not to be, not if he wants to last – even then he rather relies on facts gathered beforehand to make spur-of-the-moment decisions than his guts.

_"And this," _Elizabeth continues earnestly, obliviously, _"This is you." _

Only this time, if Neal is right, being him might just be the thing to get Tara and himself killed.

_"Besides, when all this is over with I need you home at six o'clock right on the dot." _

There's a brave little smile on El's lips as she looks at him and the trust and confidence he sees in her eyes literally takes his breath away. And suddenly he understands that this is not about making plans or rolling with the punches but about reliability. About believing in oneself … or be believed in. There is nothing he can not face as long as he has that.

A gentle light is in Peter's eyes as he looks at the woman he loves.

_"Thank you." _


	3. Book Of Hours

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note and WARNING: This got rather dark and depressing. Read at your own risk

* * *

Book Of Hours

* * *

"Steve?"

The homeless man doesn't look up, doesn't react to the suit-clad figure sitting down beside him. Instead he stares blindly ahead. Maybe at something only he can see. Maybe at nothing at all. There is no telling what it is.

"Steve?"

Every now and then a grubby dark hand jerks and makes an involuntary move as if about to stroke something resting on his knee. He never finishes it.

"I just heard. I'm sorry, Steve. If there is anything I can do..."

The other dirty hand clutches a worn leather leash, an empty collar. The homeless never looks up, never hears the man in the suit sigh as he gets up.

"I'm sorry it didn't work, Steve."

Steve never notices the other man leaving. His hand only keeps reaching, every now and then, for the faithful gray head that will never be there again.

No matter how much we believe, no matter how much we want it. This world holds no miracles when it comes to old age.


	4. Flip Of The Coin

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Flip Of The Coin

* * *

"What's he doing?"

Jones stopped beside Lauren Cruz and followed her gaze to the conference room where Peter sat still as a marble statue at the head of the large table, chin in hand. Lauren turned her head minutely.

"Still going over the evidence of the Mitchell case. Been at it ever since he came back."

"Huh." Jones glanced at the two members of Evidence Recovery Team also in there, slouching with slightly exasperated expressions in their chairs. "Guess that explains their faces."

Lauren chuckled briefly. They watched as Peter straightened up only to drop his chin back on his folded hands, both elbows now firmly planted on the table top. His lips pursed as his eyebrows drew together.

"What's he doing?"

Meyers paused beside them, balancing a stack of files.

"Surveying evidence of the Mitchell case."

"Ah."

They all watched for a moment. And watched some more.

"The Mitchell case?"

Donaldson had joined them, sipping coffee. There were some affirmative noises then the row of agents held a collective breath because Peter's head had come up a second time. He half lifted a hand but laced his fingers back together and assumed his earlier pose. Everybody breathed out again.

"Anybody seen Caffrey?" Van Douglas walked up and turned to see what everybody was looking at.

"Left him with Coleman to help with that report about the Billing fraud," Jones answered distractedly.

In the conference room Peter slowly tilted his head to the left and his audience subconsciously mirrored the move.

"Uh-huh..." Van Douglas now sounded rather distracted herself. Meanwhile Price and two more agents had joined them as well.

Peter suddenly sat up straight (drawing a little gasp from everybody) only to slump down again. There was quiet sighing. Then a harsh new voice from behind caused the whole group to jump guiltily.

"And what are YOU doing? No–" Reese Hughes closed his eyes and immediately held up a hand, "– don't answer that."

Faces displaying varying states of embarrassment the assembled agents scattered. Hughes only sighed and shook his head.

"Jones! Cruz!" Completely unnoticed the door of the conference room had flown open and Peter stood there, his vibrating enthusiasm a sharp contrast to the visibly disgruntled Evidence guys behind him. "I think we got a breakthrough! Meeting in ten! Sir, can I talk to you? Oh, and Jones, get Caffrey!"

Again sighing audibly Hughes only waved Peter to his office. Jones and Lauren looked at each other. Lauren raised her brows and Jones grinned.

"Told you so. Better than television."


	5. The Portrait

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

The Portrait

* * *

The soft knock had the man behind the desk looking up.

"Sir?" The woman in the doorway held up a file. "This was just sent over from the New York office. One of your alerts was triggered."

At a curt wave she entered and handed the folder over.

"Sir."

The man waited until she had closed the door then flung back the cover and quickly scanned through half a dozen printouts obviously taken from security footage.

Neal Caffrey and a balding man at the entrance to Grand Central Station. Neal Caffrey and a balding man in a different position at the entrance to Grand Central Station. Grainy close-up of Neal Caffrey. Grainy close-up of the balding man. Neal Caffrey standing on something and reaching up into a steel girder. Neal Caffrey holding something flat. Neal Caffrey and the balding man through a gap in the crowd, sitting down and bending over what seemed to be a piece of paper.

The man's lips curved in a cold little smile. He pulled out a cellphone and dialed. There was a click in the line.

_"Yes?" _

The man only said three words.

"Kate. This Friday."


	6. All In

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

All In

* * *

The Mei Shi Lin Restaurant in New York Chinatown is crowded this evening – as it usually is. There's bedlam in the kitchen but out in the main room one notices nothing about it, waiters gliding with serene grace over the polished floor. Bai, too, moves gracefully between the tables, stopping every now and again to ask a costumer if everything is to their liking or to exchange a few words with regulars. Many of those she has known since childhood; first skipping through the tables when barely more than a toddler then shyly helping out as a teenager, finally making easy small talk while in college. She is not here as much as she used to – her job is demanding, long hours a given and expected – but she still comes whenever she can make the time, a familiar face for the costumers that is as much part of the restaurants ongoing success as its famous dumplings.

Bai stopps at another table with familiar faces, a circle of middle-aged women who come once a month, regular as clockwork. But while she smiles and nods at the chattering group she secretly keeps an eye on the little drama going on two tables over where a young couple is desperately trying to calm down a girl that can not be more than three or four. The little one has been crying and wailing for several minutes now and the couple starts radiating the vague embarrassment of normally competent parents unable to get their offspring to behave in public. So Bai excuses herself from the ladies and makes her way over, sliding one of the restaurants business cards out of the little pouch at her hip as she walks.

"Hey there. Now who's so sad?" Smiling soothingly at the parents Bai then bends towards the child and holds up the colorful card with two fingers, angling her body so she is standing almost in profile. "Here, do you want me to show you something? Yes? You want me to show you something? See the card here? Now, watch very, very closely, okay?"

Already the girl is so entirely focused on her she forgot all about crying, raptly following the card as Bai moves it up and down.

"Okay. One – two – three – oh!" Making as if throwing the card in the air but skillfully having it disappear she then looks around with wide eyes. "Where did it go? Huh? Where did it go? Let's see… Now, did it go … maybe there?"

The girl squeals with delight as she pretends to pull the card out of the father's ear. There is a smattering of applause all around and Bai twirls her hand with a flourish before handing the business card to the giggling child. Accepting the mouthed _Thank You_ from the mother with a kind little nod Bai walks on, her eyes wandering over the heads of the costumers.

Her gaze comes to rest on a corner table occupied by some elderly people, two men and a woman. They salute her with their drinks and touching her hands lightly together Special Agent Bai Tuan of the FBI bows with a fine smile.


	7. Free Fall

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Free Fall

* * *

Peter cuffs him himself instead of giving Fowler the satisfaction; and he does it in front rather than on the back as procedure calls for. He takes great care to tighten the steel bands just right, snug but not chafing, uses his own jacket to cover them up and save as much of his dignity as he can before leading him out the door. He does not hold his elbow on the stairs like he normally would with a suspect. Walks right at his side through the office as if they were still partners, a human shield drawing at least some of the stares, preventing any loud comments. And he does all this although he firmly believes in his guilt.

Of course, right then Neal can't appreciate it. He is too angry, too frustrated, feeling too betrayed because for one fleeting moment he truly thought Peter would stand up for him against Fowler.


	8. Hard Sell

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Hard Sell

* * *

The thing that strikes Neal most about this whole, sorry mess – after his brain has done a thorough reboot, obviously – is how … _CALM_ Peter has been about all of it.

No flying off the handle, no yelling, no lecture because Neal has endangered a witness, jeopardized an important operation, almost blown both their cover and risked their lives, not to mention practically accusing him of being corruptible in front of his co-workers. He would have had a right to be angry because all of this. Instead, he simply waved him into his car when they met up after leaving Avery's house, drove him to his home and sat him down at his table, matter-of-factly explaining the meaning of the rings to him.

And even considering he has kept his own secrets it still makes Neal wonder – vaguely, in a quiet, nagging way at the back of his head rather than thinking about it consciously – if it can be that Elizabeth is right. If maybe Peter really _IS_ the best thing that ever happened to him.


	9. Bad Judgment

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Bad Judgment

* * *

_Ring..._

"Jones."

"Jones? It's Price. Listen… "

"Yeah?"

"Look, I really don't know how to say this but this evening I happened to leave the office at the same time as Hughes's assistant and… Okay, it seems Fowler started an investigation into Burke."

"What?"

"Yeah, word is he's accusing him of taking bribes."

"That's a load of –!"

"I know. I know! But apparently it was taped … by a judge."

"Ah, damn. And I guess I can guess which one."

"Then I guess you will not be far off the mark. Okay, I just wanted you to know … you know?"

"Yes, right. Thanks. I mean it."

_Ring..._

"…"

"Uh, Lauren? Lauren? I can't…"

"… that better, Jones?"

"Somewhat. Are you back in town?"

"Sitting with Alan on the Interstate somewhere near Hillview Reservoir and waiting for the tow truck. Car broke down."

"Darn. Listen, seems Fowler is after Peter."

"What? I thought his target is Caffrey?"

"Well, obviously not any longer. I'll see what else I can find out."

"Keep me posted."

"Will do."

_Ring... _

"Price, I really, really hope for you this is important!"

"Burke facing corruption charges important enough for you, Van Douglas?"

"You've got to be kidding. That man is straighter than an arrow!"

"True. But there seems to be a videotape. Made by a judge, of all things."

"Damn. But no, I just can't believe this. Almost anybody else but not Burke."

"That's what I am thinking."

"Does Jones know?"

"Yeah, I called him."

"This is freaking unbelievable. Anything we can do?"

"You know, I was kind of wondering the same thing…"

"I'll call Donaldson."

"Good, I'll take Diaz and Kleinmann."

_Ring... _

"Hello?"

"Donaldson? Van Douglas. Listen–"

"I already heard, Cruz called me. Burke is being framed."

"Yeah, Price and I thought of lending a hand, you know?"

"Just tell me when and where."

_Ring..._

"Kleinmann."

"It's Price. Listen, Burke –"

"…is in trouble, yes, I know, Jones called Lauren. But we are sitting with a broken-down car on Interstate 87."

"Ouch, right, we'll keep you in the loop."

"Appreciate it."

_Ring... _

"Yeah, Meyers – what's up, Donaldson?"

"Burke's under investigation by the OPR."

"Are you serious? What for?"

"Taking a bribe. Guess who made the accusation."

"Nah, that judge?"

"Yep. We're going to lend a hand, you in?"

"Of course I am, getting my keys right now. Shall I inform Warner as well?"

"That'd be great."

_Ring... _

"Price."

"Diaz, I got your message. I'm on my way."

_Ring... _

"Jones."

"Hey, it's Price again. Listen, I talked so some of the other guys and we all agree there's no way Burke would do anything like that. So we kind of thought of giving him a hand. Night shift in the lobby told Van Douglas he came back in."

"That's what Elizabeth said he'd do when I talked to her a few minutes ago. I'm nearly there now myself."

"Expect us in ten, then."

"Right."

_Click_


	10. Vital Signs

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: I actually wrote this tag before I ever listened to the commentary of the episode. Quite a surprise when I finally did.

* * *

Vital Signs

* * *

Neal was a hassle. Peter knew he had said it before but it was worth repeating: Neal. Was. A. Hassle. And a sneaky little bastard of a con artist at that. Even drugged. Especially drugged, probably. Unfortunately knowing it didn't save him from falling for those wide, innocent puppy-dog eyes every DAMN time, now did it?

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and then peered again through the cracked door of the unoccupied office he had found. The security desk for this floor was few steps down the hallway, the technician sitting behind it staring intently at his screen while behind him Melissa and Dr. Powell conversed in hushed tones.

Biting his lips Peter watched as they parted and walked away in different directions. More people passed his hiding place, the guard gave no sign of going to the bathroom anytime soon. He thought furiously. Any second now they would discover that Neal was gone and then he would never stand a chance of getting that darn security tape OR getting both of them out quietly. And he needed that tape. As much as Neal was a hassle – not to mention having landed him in the doghouse with El as well, thank you very much! – he really didn't want to see him go back to prison over what was essentially a good if misguided deed. Never mind HE was probably on tape as well. He could just imagine Hughes's face when presented with that.

Okay, what to do, what to do…? Under normal circumstances he would just flash his badge but that was out of the question here. Which left him only one option. A really, really frightening option. He had to ask himself: _What would Neal do? _And boy, did he know the answer to that one.

Sighing Peter took a moment to arrange his suit jacket the way he needed it, firmly set his face and slipped out into the hallway. The man at the security desk glanced up as he approached with purposeful steps then sat up straighter. Peter stopped right at the edge of his table and gave him a hard stare.

"Dr. Powell sends me to collect all footage of the man who went into his office."

The security guard hesitated for a second then typed some commands. An agonizingly long time seemed to pass as the small tape drive whirred and clicked. Finally the guard extracted the tape and handed it over. Peter deliberately held it in his outstretched hand, doing his best to make his expression cold and unapproachable as he towered over the sitting man.

"This the only copy you made so far?"

"Yes…?"

"Good. Then delete today's file for this floor. And disable all security cameras for it and the left stairwell."

"What? But that's against –"

"Order of Dr. Powell."

The man opened his mouth to protest further but Peter's authoritative tone gave him pause. As did his grim stare. His gaze wandered to the conspicuously inconspicuous bulge under his left armpit. Swallowing visibly the guard nodded.

"Delete today's file and disable security cameras for this floor. Yes, sir."

"Good." Peter kept his voice dangerously soft. He loomed a moment longer as the man worked then turned sharply and strode down the hallway.

As soon has he had rounded a corner he staggered against the wall and blew out a long breath.


	11. Home Invasion

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Home Invasion

* * *

Aah, home, sweet home and what's best he has it all to himself again. Neal sighs contentedly as he snuggles deeper into his favorite chair on the terrace, sips at his first cup of Italian roast and opens the fresh morning newspaper to the next page. He glances up with a wide smile at the sound of a door and the light tap of heels coming closer.

"June! Good morning."

"Good morning, dear." June looks around with a slight frown before gracefully taking a seat. "Is Peter not here, today?"

"Oh, no, I found him a really great hotel for the rest of the time he's forced out of his house."

That earns him a delicately raised brow and he waves an airy hand.

"You know, we just don't match at such close quarters. There are just so many things: He snores, fills my fridge with beer, sits on the couch all sweaty, always claims control of the remote, has the television on too loud and steals my favorite chair."

Not to mention poking around his things, keeping a hawk's eye on his every move, jeopardizing his chances of getting closer to the music box by running Alex's prints, questioning his motives, not coming fast enough to his aid when he was under attack by those three men, playing codebreaker with his landlady instead of him and on top of that his landlady seemed to be having a great time with him instead of Neal… Uh. Where, exactly, did that last part come from?

"Ah, yes." June's fond pat on his arm jerks Neal out of his startled stupor. She gives him one of her knowing smiles. "Byron also tried to shut me out when he first realized I was becoming more than a pretty face in a con."

She stands and saunters towards the door, leaving a rather stupid-looking, open-mouthed Neal to stare after her.


	12. Bottlenecked

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Bottlenecked

* * *

Grace Quinn watched with cool curiosity as Keller slowly prowled the vault under Bin 903 as if he owned the place. She was, however, neither impressed nor intimidated by his arrogance. Arrogance she could handle. Her clients tended to be rich and spoiled as well as supremely proud of their taste, so naturally they thought themselves above mere humans. It secretly amused her how easy it was to use that for her own profit. And Keller, Keller was even less refined than some of the nouveau riche _connoisseurs_ she had to put up with.

Ignoring her completely the dark-haired man had meanwhile paused in front of a low cupboard at one of the middle pillars, pondering it. After a few minutes he then followed the aisle between the front wine racks and the first free standing shelving unit to the right wall and traced his fingers across the top of the chest high racks there. Gauging the line of sight to the glass wall by the stairs he spoke without turning around.

"With your selected circle of clients you have of course something 18th-century from the Chateau Du Munn vineyard in here, haven't you?"

Grace took a moment to consider this. When Keller had first approached her about setting up the auction for the Franklin bottle – THE Franklin bottle – she had not been able to believe her good luck. Tying her reputation and that of her wine cellar to this famous object … god, it was the chance of a lifetime! When he had revealed his plan to drive up the price she had not hesitated. She was paid in percentage, so the higher they pushed the bidding the better; and if Keller wanted to settle an old score with some adversary on the way, well, revenge she understood as well. What she could NOT afford, however, was damage to the property of her other clients. On the other hand – they WERE talking about a lot of money, so…

"Yes?" she finally responded cautiously.

"Good. Display it here…" Keller's hands spread lightly on top of the rack, "… case open."

He turned, looked back along the shelving unit. Tilting his head he considered the wooden cases with expensive wine, quickly walked deeper into the vault until he found what he was looking for. A thin smirk played briefly around his lips.

"This wine. Put it – here." Returning he tapped his palm on a prominent place at the end of the first free standing shelving. "Open case as well. Make sure he'll notice it after he found the Du Munn."

Grace frowned. "But what if –?"

"You'll manage. I'm sure."

Their eyes met for a long second and under the weight of his flat gaze Grace felt her heartbeat accelerate against her will. She tried to conceal it with an even cooler expression but judging by the slight smile, curving briefly one corner of his mouth, he had seen right through her. For the first time since she started dealing with this man Grace felt something like a pang of fear.

Turning back to the cupboard he had inspected earlier Keller reached into the bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a worn book. Opening it where a postcard was peeking out he scanned the page, seemingly just to be sure it was the right one then placed the card that simply read _8 PM_ back inside, angling it slightly so the stamp was clearly visible. Arranging the book on the cupboard he walked a few times back and forth between it and the spot on the shelving unit he had chosen, checking different lines of sight and shifting the book minutely around until he was finally satisfied how it would be perceived. Moving one last time from the cupboard to the shelving to the rack at the wall he gave a short nod.

"That will do. Put up the wine and expect him soon." Keller pursed his lips with the air of a prophet pronouncing his wisdom. "He will probably hide behind the interest of a client … he will want a tour of the vault … he will pay close attention to your security measures… And he will be very, very interested in the seller of the Franklin bottle…"

Grace immediately saw the flaw in his plans and it gave her no small amount of satisfaction.

"But how will he know I'm brokering the sale? Weatherbys never–"

"Oh, he'll know. He'll know," Keller cut her off dismissively, looking at his watch and smiling again. A shark's smile as she finally realized with a shiver. "But to ensure that I think I need to go for a drive now."

Grace thought of the money and forced herself to return the smile.


	13. Front Man

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Front Man

* * *

"Peter?" Elizabeth stopped behind her husband sitting motionless at their dinner table and slid both hands down his shoulders until her cheek rested against the side of his head. "What is it? Are you still worrying about Neal? I thought he is back safe and sound?"

A deep breath expanded the solid chest under her palms as Peter sighed.

"He is. He did well today, El. Really well."

He lifted the beer bottle he was holding but set it down again without drinking.

"Then what is it?"

Elizabeth felt the gentle pressure as he leaned his head against hers.

"I think he's going to do something stupid."

"Like going after the music box?"

"Like going after the music box, alone."

She turned her face into his temple.

"And if he came to you? And told you he knew where it was? Would you help him get it?"

There was a moment of silence.

"If there was a legal option – yes."

"Maybe you should tell him that."

"He wouldn't listen. He never listens. He's got it in his head to do this all alone instead of coming to me. I don't know why, it's not like I don't know about it or that it is the price Fowler wants for Kate. Instead he will rush headlong into one of his schemes and if he steals it … I'll have no choice but to hunt him down."

Elizabeth brushed a kiss against his temple then tilted her forehead against the side of his head.

"He's a good man, El," Peter said quietly. He did not sound angry. Or frustrated. Only resigned. "He has something good here. Something worthwhile. And he will throw it all away."

El silently tightened her arms around him and hoped that he was wrong. Not only because she liked the smooth young man who had wormed his way into their lives. But because she was afraid of the consequences if he was right. She knew her husband too well, after all.

Neal might be the one ending up in prison – but Peter would be the one getting hurt.


	14. Out Of The Box

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Well, and here we are at the end of Season 1 and this little collection.

* * *

Out Of The Box

* * *

"So?" Mike flipped two switches and turned his head slightly as David came back into the cockpit of the small but powerful business jet. "Our passengers arrived, yet?"

"One of them." David squeezed into his seat and immediately tightened the seat belts out of long habit. "Cute little thing. Still waiting for the second one though."

"Uh-huh," Mike frowned at a display, not really concerned, "Well, then let's complete the checklist in the meantime."

"Right…"

For the next few minutes there was only the reassuring back and forth of technical terms, the two men completely at ease with each other and their job. There was little doubt in their minds that this leg of the journey would be just as uneventful as their trip here and then it would be back home again. It was the way of their world to fly where they were told to; it made no difference if by the government or a company. Task completed David finally glanced at his older colleague.

"So, care to tell me what you got your girls this city?"

A wide smile lit up Mike's face as he reached for his carry-on and pulled out a pair of squashy stuffed unicorns in screaming colors. The younger pilot coughed.

"Boy, will you be glad when this time you get a son and can buy him baseballs!"

"Oh, I don't know." Mike turned the unicorns so he was looking them in the face and made them nod at him. "As I found, these things oddly grow on you. Wait till you have children of your own."

David's grin faded. "Yeah, don't see that happen for some time, yet. Not with…"

Mike shot him a look when he didn't continue. "Your grandma not doing better?"

"No. You know, at first it was only occasionally but now it's more often than not that she looks at me with those wide eyes and asks _And who are you? _I mean that's just wrong." David angrily poked at the console. "And you know what's getting to me most? Remembering all the times she said she never wants to end like that."

"Yeah," Mike mumbled because really what was there to say? He glanced out of the window when a movement by the hangar caught his eye. "Hey, look, seems like our second passenger has arrived."

"About time." David leaned forward for a quick peek at the young man just coming through the small sports planes and raising a hand in greeting. "Then let's prep the engines."

Both pilots started concentrating on their next checklist until Mike threw another casual glance outside and frowned.

"Huh?"

"What?" David shifted to get his colleague's head out of his line of sight.

The young man was now standing turned away and talking to a second, older man. They seemed to be arguing about something. The young one was briefly pointing behind him at the plane, the new arrival made another step forward. There was some gesturing and shaking of heads.

"Wonder what this is about...?" Mike murmured softly.

"Maybe older brother trying to talk junior out of going off with the cute little lady in the cabin," David speculated with a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure the cockpit door was closed. "Or the family lawyer."

Mike snorted.

Outside the young man suddenly reached inside his coat and pulled something out. The two men slowly stepped towards each other and the older one took what the younger was handing him. Their grave body language telegraphed clearly that something important was going on. Then the younger man turned abruptly and walked in the direction of the jet.

"Oh-oh," David muttered when the older man obviously said something that brought the younger one to a sharp stop.

They were facing each other again and it was quite clear the argument hat just gotten rougher; shoulders set rigidly, hands moving short and clipped. The pilots glanced at each others and David quietly reached to bring the engines up. Mike looked outside again where the young man turned to the plane and back to the other man then abruptly to the plane again and started walking. Even from this distance the defeated droop of the older man's shoulders was evident.

"Guess that was that," Mike said softly.

The younger man's steps slowed then stopped. Painful indecision briefly on his face like a silent scream. He turned back.

David clicked his tongue. "Or no–"

The rest was only heat and flames.


End file.
